


Raperaperaperape

by lennypants35



Series: Winter's End additions [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Biting, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Choking, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Dildos, Drowning, Enemas, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennypants35/pseuds/lennypants35
Summary: Jackson, a homeless fifteen year-old on the streets of a dangerous city, is held captive in the home of someone he trusts. He is raped, blah blah blah blah. Basically non-consensual everything, poor kid.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Winter's End additions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599352
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, another work. Sorry, it's been a while. I haven't posted on my other works because school. Nah, who cares about school, whatever. It's break right now anyways. Sorry if this is a confusing set of messages, for some reason my brain is mush right now. I hope you enjoy this story. It branches off of one of my other works; Excerpt from Winter's End... I know, sounds boring, but it's really nice and rapey. Similar to this one, I suppose. If you're interested in any of my other works, I have a link in the notes at the end which will bring you straight to my other very rapey works. Thank you!! enjoy and sorry for the long note.

I could barely keep my eyes open. I had to constantly be jerking my head back up to stay awake and to keep my tiny tin can of coins and dollar bills out in the open for passerby to see. Maybe they would drop in some spare change. Sometimes, if I accidentally passed out, other people on the street in a situation similar to mine would just take all the money I had gathered throughout the day for themselves. Not to say that I gathered much money, which I don't. It's usually a couple quarters, maybe a dollar bill. Considering the area of the city I stayed in, the amount I gathered was decent. Most of the city was poverty-stricken, and few could even afford to drop any spare change into my little tin can. Nobody in the rich sectors would ever drop in even a coin, so I didn't even bother hanging around there. Yes, it was safer in that area, but I also would never have a single penny in my tin can. I could risk being on the bad side of town.

Thankfully, though, there were also people who looked out for me, like Liz, who stopped by every day she could, just to make sure I was all right. I refused every offer she gave for me to stay at her place, however. I couldn't burden her, even though it'd be nice to be with her one more time. We hadn't made love in what felt like years, even though I'd only been on the street for about six months.

And then there was this nice man, Mr. Trossen, who would drop in ten dollars and give me some food every day; early in the morning and late at night. Toast, muffin, biscuit, just something that would fill my belly even a little bit.

I was thankful to have people like them in my life. People who cared. People who would never hurt me.

It was raining for the first time in months. Heavy droplets of water hammered against the cement sidewalk in front of me. I was already soaked through and through, despite it only have been raining for a minute or so. I shivered uncontrollably. Too bad all the dry places were overtaken by vermin, whether it was human or not.

"Jackson?" A hulking man under an umbrella stooped over to speak with me. I recognized the large, kind eyes hidden under thick, bushy eyebrows almost instantly.

I peered up at him. "Hey, Mr. Trossen. How's it going?"

"Fine, fine. What're you doing out here in weather like this?"

"Oh, just living life to the fullest." I blinked endless amounts of raindrops from my eyes.

Mr. Trossen looked down at me pityingly. I hated that look, but I supposed I looked pretty pitiful, soaked to the bone and shivering in the icy November rain. And I had over ten dollars in my tin--aside from what Mr.Trossen had dropped in earlier--, and it's always the most pitiful-looking of people who get the most cash.

"Jackson, come stay at my apartment for a night or two. It'll keep you out of this rain, help you catch up on some much-needed sleep in a decent bed."

"No, Mr. Trossen, I couldn't. You don't need some homeless person crashing at your place." My god I was tired.

"Jackson, I insist. It'll be no trouble at all. My building is only the next one down, very close to your street corner."

Mr. Trossen helped me to my feet and I grabbed my duffel bag from where it was safely tucked in an oddly dry spot on the ground. Sadly, it was a dry spot not quite large enough to fit me.

"Thank you so much, sir. This means so much." I almost felt like crying from relief and exhaustion and thankfulness. 

We entered his apartment. The front door opened into a connected kitchen, dining room and living area.

"Your bedroom will have a half bathroom attached. I'm sorry that there's only one full bath. Are you okay with sharing?" Mr. Trossen closed the door behind him, quietly sliding the lock in place. Probably just a precaution. It was a dangerous neighborhood.

"It's no problem, I don't mind." I glanced around. "Do you mind if I go put my stuff in the other room?"

Mr. Trossen gestured toward a bedroom door. "Not at all. Go ahead."

I shut the door behind me, setting down my duffel. I figured I should change out of my sopping wet clothes, but first I probably should've taken a shower. I went back out into the living area where Mr. Trossen sat on his couch.

"Jackson, come, sit." He patted the spot next to him.

"Are you sure? I'm soaked."

He licked his lips. "It's fine. Just come and sit."

I felt a bit uneasy, but I sat down next to him anyways. Just sitting on a couch made me want to pass out. I relaxed almost instantly

"You know, Jackson, if you ever need anything, you just let me know. You can trust me."

"I know Mr. Trossen. Thank you."

Mr. Trossen placed a hand on my thigh. I stiffened. I was sure it was an accident, him having his hand on my thigh. This man was letting me stay at his apartment. He was letting a dirty, good-for-nothing homeless kid stay at his place. So I said nothing. And then his hand started moving further up. Too far.

I stood up and took a step back, laughing nervously. "I'm sorry, Mr. Trossen, if I gave you the wrong message. I just...um...don't roll that way."

"No, no, you weren't sending any signals." Mr. Trossen stood and I became suddenly aware of how much larger he was than me.

"Actually, you know what, I think I'm just going to go. I'm sorry to have intruded. I-I-I-I'll just grab my duffel and go," I stammered, beginning to back away. My stutter came back. My heart was pounding. Something was off.

"You're not going anywhere." Mr. Trossen grabbed my wrist tightly.

"Let go of me."

His grip tightened.

"I said let go." I twisted my wrist from his grasp and he socked me square in the jaw. I immediately got into a fighting stance, punching him in the stomach and throwing a roundhouse kick. I guessed that my brother taught me well, because Mr. Trossen stumbled a bit. He grunted, then hit me with a hard backhand that sent me flying toward the ground. On the way down, my head slammed against the corner of the glass coffee table.

I rolled onto my back. My head throbbed and I reached my hand up to my forehead. Blood. I felt nauseous and threw up on the patterned rug beneath the coffee table.

The world was blanketed in this comforting haze. I couldn't concentrate. I was only vaguely aware of my clothes coming off. And the red blinking light of a video camera.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson has difficult time dealing with sexual assault, but really, who doesn't?

I woke up to the feeling of pain in the most unusual places. I felt...full? Heavy? I wasn't sure. A bitter taste thickly layered my whole mouth. I tried to swallow it down, but it wouldn't go away. I winced at my awful, pounding headache. My arms were splayed on the headboard of the bed on which I laid. I tugged lazily at the zip ties binding my wrists. Wouldn't budge. 

I felt just as nauseous as before, but I kept it under control this time. Blood still dripped down the side of my face and down my neck.

I couldn't quite remember what had happened after Mr. Trossen had punched me, but I could easily infer what had occurred from current happenings. I assumed that I had hit my head at some point during the scuffle and Mr. Trossen had tied me to this bed so he could do whatever the hell he wanted to me for however long he wanted, and these bizarre aches and feelings I was having were just uncommon symptoms of a concussion. Yeah, that's what it was.

Mr. Trossen came from the room to my right; the bathroom. My eyes wouldn't focus right. I saw double of Mr. Trossen. Another symptom of a concussion.

Mr. Trossen held gauze in his hand and came to my side, raising the gauze up to my temple. I jerked my head away. Mr. Trossen gripped my jaw tightly and forced me towards him. He gently dabbed at the gash across my forehead while I struggled as furiously as I could in my foggy state. It did nothing. Mr. Trossen was twice my size, weight, and probably strength.

My breath came quick and ragged. My pulse raced and my eyes darted wildly like prey searching for an escape from a predator. In this case, it was a child predator. A fucking pedo. And it was for this reason that I was so terrified.

He finally let go of my jaw and I squirmed as far away from him as I possibly could, so really only about two or three inches.

Mr. Trossen jammed a sock in my mouth and left me alone. For a very long time. I was too scared to fall asleep, so every time I was near passing out, I bit my cheek until it hurt enough to wake me up. It was generally enough to make it bleed, too.

Exhaustion eventually got the best of me.

When, I woke--which was something of a miracle, considering that it's not always safe to sleep with an unchecked-on concussion--, I couldn't breath. However, the sock was no longer in my mouth, so that wasn't what was suffocating me. My lungs burned and I could feel something gripping my throat tightly. I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Trossen kneeling over me with his fingers wrapped around my neck and a crazed look in his eye.

When he finally let go, black spots danced across my vision and my head fell limply back. I started coughing.

Mr. Trossen unzipped his pants and lowered his underwear, revealing a huge erection. He was already panting, shaking with anticipation. I squirmed beneath him as he began rubbing his cock against my face, leaving faint streaks of precum. He jacked off, white splashing onto my face, hair, everywhere. I held back a sob, then cursed at myself for already almost crying. Fucking pussy. Coward.

He gripped my hair in his fingers and jerked my head back. His dick was right in line with my open mouth. I clamped it shut as fast as I could. He dragged his penis along my face until it was pressed against my cheek.

I averted my eyes.

"Look at me."

Mr. Trossen yanked at my hair. " _Look at me_ _,_ Jackson."

I slowly turned my gaze toward him.

"Good." He stroked himself. He bent down, biting and licking my ear, whispering, "You're mine now."

I cringed at the slimy heat of his tongue slithering against my skin.

He drew back and stared. "Just look at those eyes. So blue. It's such a shame when you hide them."

Mr. Trossen began prodding at my mouth with his cock, which was beginning to slowly harden once more.

I shut my mouth tighter and squeezed my eyes closed.

"Ah-ah-ah. Eyes on me."

I looked back at him.

"Good boy. Just for your good behavior, I won't make you swallow when you blow me for the first time." Mr. Trossen smiled gently, stroking my hair. I stiffened. He hopped off the bed, pulling up his pants and retrieving something from cherry dresser in the corner of the room. He fiddled with the item for a moment, approaching me. Some sort of metal and fabric contraption, with fasteners and screws and buckles. It looked homemade.

Mr. Trossen began fastening the bottom of it to my shoulders, then slowly tightening it around my head as I struggled in vain. It was a brace of sorts. Something to keep my head in place. The only thing on the odd brace that he did not use was a chinstrap, which dangled from the metal at the middle of my neck. I could barely move my head a millimeter in that brace. 

Mr. Trossen fit wireless headphones over my ears, then brought over a laptop and a projector. He pressed a button and a video started to play, the sound coming in through the headphones. Crying blared in my ears. I winced. Loud noises were rather unpleasant in my already ringing ears. Head injuries are really fun, especially when you're being held hostage by a pedophile-psychopath.

Staring at the video projected on the wall, I realized Mr. Trossen was showing me porn. Weird porn. There was a kid, about my age, maybe a little older, laying on the same bed I was. Soaking wet. Shivering, his lips nearly gone purple. He wasn't tied down. Mr. Trossen was in this video. The kid was sobbing hysterically as Mr. Trossen touched him, stripping off his clothes and using toys on him. Forcing himself inside the kid. Even if I shut my eyes, I could still hear the kid sobbing, pleading...moaning. I screamed at Mr. Trossen to turn it off, so he jammed the sock back in my mouth. He hit me in the stomach, which caused a new wave of nausea, and signaled for my eyes to stay open. He stayed for part of the video, jacking off to it and turning to me so that he came all over me again. Then he left, for a long, long time. Hours. Video after video played, and there was a new kid each time. Mr. Trossen would rape the kids, and afterward he'd kill them in some new, twisted, sexual way. There were at least fifteen videos, all about thirty minutes long, but some lasted over an hour.

I knew that if I fell asleep, Mr. Trossen would come in without me knowing. The headphones blocked out any external sound. And it wasn't like I could fall asleep anyways. It was somehow worse to close my eyes. So I kept them open. Wide open. And I saw everything that monster did to those kids. Some younger than eight, others nearly twenty. And I couldn't believe that I was going to become one of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson gives his first blowjob. Good for him! Doing new, exciting things is just a part of life, isn't it?

Hours and hours of watching and of screams and cries blaring in my ears while most likely having a concussion took a toll. A migraine pounded at my skull, my eyes burned from staring at the videos for so long, I was seeing double again...the list goes on. Life got worse.

Mr. Trossen finally came back. My eyelids were drooping, despite the horrible sounds coming from the headphones, I was beyond exhausted. But, as soon as Mr. Trossen entered the room, I was as alert as I could possibly be, given exhaustion and all of those terrible symptoms of my head injury. He climbed on the bed and straddled me. He tore my shirt so it dangled in tatters off my shoulders. He ripped it the rest of the way off, using it as a blindfold. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear anything other than the screaming in the headphones. Mr. Trossen took the sock out of my mouth and started kissing me. I bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and he slapped me, deciding to utilize the chin strap dangling from the headgear. He fastened it over my chin until it pulled my mouth open. Mr. Trossen kissed me again, his tongue snaking its way past my teeth, and I was powerless to stop him. I couldn't even say anything. Couldn't tell him to please god stop I can't do this. I thrashed under him. I couldn't fight him. I didn't stand a chance. He started playing with my nipples, palming my dick, riding up against me. I felt a small whimper escape my lips. Stupid son of a bitch showing him how scared you are. Just fucking grow a pair.

I could never really stop myself from calling myself names. It really just happened, and I was powerless, just as I was when Mr. Trossen was on top of me.

Mr. Trossen pinched my nipple hard, sending the message, "Make another sound, and I"ll make you hurt a lot worse."

I stopped struggling and trembled.

Mr. Trossen sucked on my neck. Then bit down until blood streamed from the mark. 

I battled tears that welled in my eyes. I lost. The blindfold became damp and some drops escaped from underneath. 

I didn't quite understand the point of the blindfold. Maybe it was to deprive me of my sight, make me that much more helpless. Maybe it was Mr. Trossen depriving himself of the bizarre sexual pleasure he got from staring into my eyes, making him all the more horny when he saw my eyes again. It didn't matter which one it was, because it worked either way.

As a high-pitched moan blasted in my ears over the headphones, Mr. Trossen ripped them from me. He rode against me more furiously, his hard dick grinding into my hip bone. I listened to his wheezing grunts close to my ear as he pulled down his pants. He slurped the tears off my face. His fingers constantly teased my nipples. Mr. Trossen sucked on the tender, perky point, lathering it in saliva and pulling it with his teeth. His hand fumbled around in the bedside table drawer, putting something on the nipple that stung. 

I let out a small cry and Mr. Trossen backhanded me.

He put one of those things on my other nipple, too.

My breathing grew more ragged and frantic as Mr. Trossen began to unzip my pants. I tugged painfully at the zip ties binding my wrists to the bedposts. I kicked my feet out at Mr. Trossen as he yanked my pants and underwear off the rest of the way. He straddled me once more. 

I finally began to blubber, "Please don't I'm sorry. S-s-stopstopstop please I'm sorry I-I-I'm sorrysorrysorry." It was nearly incomprehensible with my returning stutter and the chinstrap pulling my jaw halfway down. Saliva slid down my chin. Mr. Trossen cinched the chin strap until my mouth was as open as he could possibly get it. My jaw already ached and even more spit filled my mouth.

Mr. Trossen took off the blindfold. My eyes darted around the room frantically for only an instant before locking on Mr. Trossen's fully erect length barely a centimeter from my mouth. I shook my head vigorously, or at least as much as I could, which was barely an inch. Mr. Trossen loosened the headgear.

"Look at me, Jackson."

I looked, knowing exactly how terrified I was and how clearly it showed on my face.

He moaned and already a bit of precum dripped into my mouth. "God, those eyes. Makes me horny just looking at them. At you. I just want to fuck you right here, right now."

It was bitter. Salty. Sour. I hated the taste. and I realized how I wasn't even close to being ready for this or for him. I shut my eyes as tight as I could.

Before I even had the chance to prepare myself, Mr. Trossen jammed his dick down my throat all at once. And kept it there. I was choking, suffocating. I gagged and swallowed around him. A bit of cum shot down my throat and I coughed uncontrollably. Some of it burbled up at the corners of my mouth and dribbled down my chin.

Mr. Trossen's penis remained stationary.

"I'm waiting."

Waiting for what? What could he possibly be waiting for? I couldn't breathe.

"Look at me Jackson. That's all I want. _Eye contact_."

I reluctantly raised my gaze up to him, my tear-filled eyes remaining pinned on Mr. Trossen as he rode my mouth.

He used his right hand to grip my hair and pull me closer until his balls slapped against my chin. With his other hand he touched my throat where the outline of his dick bulged.

I just couldn't hold it anymore. I was too terrified to even be all that aware that I'd wet the bed anyways. I only vaguely felt the sensation of the sheets growing warm and wet beneath me.

Mr. Trossen's hips continued to thrust forward and he jerked my head back and forth, not caring that it kept on hitting the headboard. And I kept my eyes painfully on his. His eyes. Emotionless. Crazed. Hungry.

He released his load, letting it spill out my mouth and all over my chest. He wiped his dick on my face. Then took pictures of me. Naked. Up close with his cock in my mouth, pressed against my cheek, resting on my cum-streaked chest. And my eyes locked on camera. He took pictures of the piss stain I'd left on the bed, a result of my fear.

Mr. Trossen shook his head at me. "Tsk-tsk, Jackson. Wetting the bed? At this age, you should be past that. Do I need to put you back in diapers?"

Fuck no. 

Please god no.

I shook my head as much as I possibly could.

Mr. Trossen grinned. "No? You're right. That's just too much trouble...but, I do have the day off tomorrow, so I'll have all day to fuck around. So I guess I'll have to think of something to do on our day of fun."

His cum still dripped from my mouth. I couldn't do much to stop it, at least not without making disgusting slurping sounds.

And he was already hard again. How was that even possible? I gave him a tiny, miniscule amount of credit; he could fuck endlessly.

Mr. Trossen laid out a towel underneath me where I'd pissed the bed and retrieved a camera from the dresser in the corner, setting it on a tripod.

"I guess it's time for another round. And this time you have to swallow." Mr. Trossen pressed a button on the camera and that familiar tiny red light started blinking. I was being recorded. Somebody was going to see this tape. Somebody, some random kid who would end up tied here just like I was, was going to see me bound naked to a bed with nipple clamps on while giving a blowjob and crying my eyes out.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

Of course, I never get what I want, so it was going to happen anyways. I denied that fact.

I started writhing in the bed, jerking my wrists against the zip ties, thrashing my head around, kicking, my whole body fighting against my restraints.

Mr. Trossen leaned down and sucked at my still bleeding neck, his hands working; one lightly tugging at the chain connecting the nipple clamps, the other creeping down my back. I whimpered as my tender nipples were abused. Mr. Trossen grabbed the chain with his teeth and yanked on it hard. I winced, my eyes clamping shut. My Trossen crept lower and lower until his mouth was right over above my flaccid penis. His hands massaged and spread my ass cheeks. I kept my eyes shut tight.

And then they shot open again as Mr. Trossen painfully removed something from my hole and crammed two fingers in. I jerked, realizing that there had already been something inside me, but I couldn't focus on that. There were other problems at hand. Mr. Trossen's mouth slipped onto my dick. I scrambled to get away, my hips jerking, legs thrashing, whole body struggling. 

This couldn't be happening.

Mr. Trossen forced in finger after finger until I couldn't stop my voice from emitting a disgusting sound. I moaned. It was long, girlish, and painfully humiliating. I felt my cheeks grow even redder than they already were. Mr. Trossen began to really work his fingers in there, and my legs involuntarily spread, hoping to alleviate some of the pain. My heels dug into the mattress. My whole body was rolling and I couldn't stop myself from moaning and crying out and I knew that Mr. Trossen was loving it.

And I hated myself for it.

Mr. Trossen was simultaneously sucking and working his fingers and there was no place for me to go because I either backed into his fingers or thrust toward his mouth. I was trapped. I tried to scream for him to stop but it just came out as an incomprehensible mesh of garbled language through that chinstrap. I could feel Mr. Trossen's eyes staring at me, feel the burn of his gaze begging for me to look down at him, to see what he was doing to me, but I wouldn't, _couldn't_ give in. Because that would mean that he'd won, wouldn't it?

Mr. Trossen finally withdrew his fingers and removed his mouth from my penis and glanced at his watch. "Ugh. Never mind. Not today. You're overdue for a good cleaning. Might as well just do a blowjob."

He climbed back on top of me and almost instantly jammed his cock into my mouth. Forced me to make eye contact. Grabbed me by the hair, making me bob up and down on his erect length in sync with his thrusts.

"Little slut...dirty whore...piece of shit fuck toy..." Mr. Trossen punctuated the end of each phrase with a powerful thrust. They grew more irregular and my head began to bang against the headboard once more. His breathing was heavy as a particularly large load shot into my mouth.

Mr. Trossen moaned. "Swallow."

I shook my head. Mr. Trossen tugged hard on my hair and tilted my head back.

I choked on the semen sliding thickly down my throat, some of it coming out the sides of my mouth. I gagged as I forced myself to swallow the slimy, salty liquid. 

Mr. Trossen finally took his penis out of my mouth and began using his finger to scoop remaining cum off my chin and wipe it in my forced-open mouth. He kissed me on the mouth and I made no struggle against it. He left to the kitchen, coming back with a cold meal of rice and beans, which he forced down my throat after removing the chinstrap. He gave me water to drink through a straw. Mr. Trossen fit the wireless headphones back over my ears, put his pants back on, and put on another video. A new one. Mr. Trossen turned off the camera and left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Jackson sees in that video really fucks him up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, but in the spirit of Coronacation—yes, I'm calling it that just like everyone else, deal with it—I'm writing some more. I have a ton of time anyways and nothing to really do with it. Here it is.

It only took me a couple seconds to realize that this time I was the kid in the video. But it wasn't the one made just now; it was from a couple days ago, when I hit my head on that table.

The camera blinks on. It's angled toward me, on the ground, my forehead bleeding all over the tile.

I remembered how cold the ground was.

I'm only half conscious, but awake enough to know I have to get out. I slowly but surely drag myself toward the door, but Mr. Trossen comes in and grabs me by the ankles, pulling me back into the frame. I weakly fight him. He doesn't seem to feel a thing. Mr. Trossen easily pins my arms above my head and kisses me. Deeply. I turn my head away, so he snakes his tongue into my ear. He takes off my shirt and plays with my nipples, taking off both our clothes until we're completely naked. I'm slowly and weakly writhing underneath him

It does nothing

He ties my hands behind my back with his belt. I'm face to face with his cock. He prods at my mouth. My half-closed eyes do a slow, lazy blink and I crinkle my nose, turning my head away.

Mr. Trossen roughly grabs my hair, like always, and forces my head back in his direction. He plugs my nose until I open my mouth to breathe, then forces his dick halfway in.

I choke and swallow around him.

Mr. Trossen lets out a long, low moan and slides the rest of his erect penis in.

I could see the outline of him in my throat. I watched numbly.

Mr. Trossen begins slow, dragging thrusts, and with each one, I gag slightly on his dick.

"Hungry little bitch." Mr. Trossen slaps my cheek lightly.

I give a pitiful attempt to jerk my head away, but Mr. Trossen has a firm hold on me. My legs kick slowly. I can't breathe.

Mr. Trossen finally cums, he plugs my nose and clamps my mouth shut until I swallow every last bit.

He releases me and I let out a sad, wet cough. When I breathe, some leftover semen gurgles in my throat.

Mr. Trossen leaves to retrieve some things, bringing back a towel, nitrile gloves, a bottle of lube, and a small black plug. He snaps on the long gloves and lays out the towel, flipping me onto my stomach and onto the towel. He props me up on my knees so my face is against the ground and my ass is in the air. He squirts the lube onto his fingers and massages my asshole with it.

A small moan exits my lips.

Mr. Trossen inserts a finger. Then two. He thrusts them in and out of the tight muscle, all two soon adding a third and fourth finger, eventually fisting me. Each time Mr. Trossen takes his fist out, there's more and more blood. When he punches in, there's a squishy, sloppy sound.

I turned my head to the side and puked.

Mr. Trossen wipes his gloved hand off on the towel. And we finally come what he's been waiting for. Mr. Trossen lines up his dick with my hole and thrusts in. His hands grip my hips tightly and impale me on him repeatedly. There's that sloppy sound again, along with the slapping of his balls against my ass.

Blood slowly pools under my head, blooming in stark contrast to the whiteness of the towel. Red streams down my thighs. My whole body jerks each time he thrusts.

And the whole time, I'm only half-conscious. That damned concussion practically has me roofied.

Mr. Trossen moans loudly and thrusts a couple more times before pulling out. He sticks the plug in and walks away. Long, long minutes pass of me just laying on the ground, barely stirring. Mr. Trossen comes back, his cock slightly less flaccid than before. He starts riding up against me, harshly palming me and biting my nipples hard. I'm panting, letting out distressed whimpers and cries. Mr. Trossen is hard again. He puts me on my knees again. He removes the plug from my ass and starts fucking me immediately, quickly coming to his climax and pushing the plug back into my stretched hole.

It's over.

The video starts over.

By the third replay it fully sank in. I became acutely aware of the plug and cum inside me. I realized I had been denying the bizarre feelings that so clearly led up to this—the fullness, the pain in my nipples and ass and jaw and _everything._ I sobbed hysterically and yanked at the zip ties, letting the plastic tear off skin.

I didn't care anymore. I just wanted the fuck out.

It was a half-hour long video. By the fifth replay, I grew just calm enough to realize that ripping off my skin was doing absolutely nothing. Not to say that I was calm. I was far from it. Just slightly less hysterical than I was before. I began twisting, pushing, pulling at my thumbs until something broke. It didn't take very long. I heard my left thumb snap and I easily pulled it from the zip tie. As soon as my hand was free, I yelled and flung the headphones across the room in a flare of rage that didn't go away.

I couldn't listen to Mr. Trossen's moaning anymore. Or mine.

But the whimpering, the grunts, the moans, the awful sound of my choking on his cum or of his fist punching into me was burned into my brain.

I broke my other thumb and my right hand was free.

I stumbled out of the bed, stomping on the projector until the light blinked out, throwing the laptop against the wall, shattering its fragile screen.

Six replays. I had been watching the video over and over for three hours. Watching him do that do me repeatedly just broke something in me. That fracture was reflected in my behavior over the next couple of hours.

I laid curled up in fetal position in the bed, reaching back and tentatively touching the plug in my swollen hole. I tried to pull it out, then spent a good twenty minutes sobbing and hyperventilating.

I stood in the bathroom connected to this room for awhile, giving myself a pep talk. I had to just man up and yank it out. Don't think, just do it. Easy as pie. You'll be fine. Everything's gonna be okay.

I tried and failed.

I sat on the toilet for a long time trying to push it out. I screamed at myself to do it.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes; dry, cracked lips; a huge gash in my forehead, dried blood all over the side of my face. Cum was streaked all over me, not just my face. Crusted in my hair. In my eyelashes. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I slammed my fist into the mirror, tiny shards of the reflective material embedded in my knuckles, the rest clattering into the white porcelain sink.

I picked the shards out of my knuckles and found a towel in the bathroom closet, wetting it and cleaning all the fluids off of me, including my own piss. I drank some water from the tap. I sat on the bed and brought my knees to my chest. I pulled on my hair, curled my hands into fists and cried endlessly.

No windows. Door was dead-bolted shut. There was nothing to pick the lock—I looked. I was incapable of breaking down the door. Weak. Trapped.

It was driving me insane.

Dear God, what had he done to me?

I couldn't think, breathe, or move from that spot. 

I just sat there, rocking myself back and forth, sobbing.

I didn't register the sound of Mr. Trossen entering through the front door. I only realized he was there when the door to the room opened and Mr. Trossen stepped inside, a grin on his face. One that didn't reach his eyes. It didn't fade upon seeing the mess I'd made, or that I'd gotten out of the zip ties.

Blood still drip-dropped from the torn-up skin on my wrists.

"Jackson, you've been a very naughty boy." Mr. Trossen stared at me with his cold, hungry eyes. "And do you know what happens to naughty boys?"

My eyes started tearing up again. " _What did you do to me? What did you do_ _?"_

I didn't register how loudly I was yelling. Screaming.

He repeated, "And do you know what happens to naughty boys?" He took a step closer.

"No! Don't come any closer! Don't touch me!" My voice was at the highest pitch I'd ever heard it. I shook my head, my voice seeming to break with every word. "I want it out! Get it out! I just want it out of me! Get it out!" I repeated it until Mr. Trossen reached for my wrist. I tried to jerk it away, but he had a grip of steel.

"Let go of me!"

Maybe I was loud enough for the neighbors to take notice.

Who was I kidding? The neighbors had no doubt heard the cries of every kid Mr. Trossen had murdered. They just didn't give a flying fuck.

Mr. Trossen leaned in so close I could smell the sourness of his breath. His crazed eyes locked with mine. "And do you know what happens to naughty boys?" He nearly screamed, "They get punished!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if the format of the scene with the video is confusing. If you have any suggestions of how I can make it better or make it make more sense, that'd be really helpful.  
> Stay safe. These are kind of strange, dangerous (?) times, so don't get sick or something. Thanks again for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naughty boy gets punished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in one day, let's see if I can finish it.

He sure as hell did punish me. He did just about every humiliating thing I could have possibly imagined.

He began by taking out the plug and sitting me on the toilet. "Push it out."

I said nothing and just stared straight ahead. Back when I thought I could preserve at least the tiniest bit of my dignity.

Mr. Trossen simply pushed on my stomach and the cum came gushing out.

I almost puked at the mere sound of it.

"Good job, baby." Mr. Trossen rubbed my back.

"Don't you fucking touch me." I whispered, partially because my voice was practically ruined.

There was nothing sexual about the way he rubbed my back. It was as if he was rewarding me for a job well done, like he would his pet dog. Comforting me, praising me.

For some reason that just made it so much worse.

Next thing I knew, I was on my hands and knees on a towel with Mr. Trossen shoving a tube up my ass. 

Chilled water flowed into me.

It grew very uncomfortable very quickly.

Once all the water was inside me, Mr. Trossen let me writhe around for awhile. I was on the ground, clutching my slightly bulging stomach, trying to get through an especially intense cramp. He let me remain like that until I finally broke and pleaded with him to just let me get it out of me. Mr. Trossen sat me on the toilet, and by God, I just let loose.

And then we started all over again. But this time I wasn't allowed to let out the icy water. Mr. Trossen just stuck an oversized plug in it that almost made me cry out and tied me back to the bed. More securely, of course, considering the fact that I had managed to get out the last time. He wrapped gauze around my wrists and knuckles and did some sort of makeshift treatment for my broken thumbs.

Mr. Trossen picked up the broken bits and pieces of his projector and the shattered screen of his laptop.

"Look at this mess you've made. You are a very naughty boy, Jackson." He placed the jagged pieces of plastic on the bedside table. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a pack of decent menthol cigarettes and a lighter, allowing the flame to lick the butt a singular cigarette and taking a long draw from it.

Mr. Trossen brushed his thumb along the nipple clamps. I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. 

"Poor baby. I guess it's time to take these off, huh?" He said around his sort-of-nice-smelling cigarette.

I gritted my teeth as Mr. Trossen undid the clamps and put them in the drawer. He looked up at me and furrowed his brow.

"It's okay, I can make it better, baby."

I hated it when he called me that.

Mr. Trossen set his cigarette in the ashtray on the night table, leaning over and beginning to lightly suck on my tender, swollen nipple; it was almost double its normal size. It stung when his tongue swirled around it. I whimpered and Mr. Trossen sucked harder. by the time he'd moved onto the other nipple, I was panting my way through a cramp. I pressed my heels hard into the mattress and dug my nails into my palms—at least, as well as I could with the restraints.

Mr. Trossen looked up, a line of saliva trailing from his bottom lip to my nipple. "Do you have a cramp?" He began massaging my belly. "Oh, it's okay baby, I'll—"

"Stop calling me that!"

Mr. Trossen did his favorite move, the backhand, across my face. "You will not speak to me that way!" His voice boomed and seemed to make the room shake. "I am your master!" He reached into the drawer and jammed that same horrible sock in my mouth. He reached for his cigarette, drawing a breath from it. "And you're just my little whore." Mr. Trossen pressed the butt of the cigarette hard into my ever-so-slightly bulging stomach. "And you will speak to and treat me with respect."

I stared down in horror, shrieking as the cigarette seared my skin. My eyes watered.

Mr. Trossen glared at me. "Look at me!" He grabbed my chin hard and he put the cigarette in his mouth and breathed before bringing it up to my temple. I tried to jerk my head away from the cigarette, but Mr. Trossen's grip remained firm.

I stared at him pleadingly and he just smiled and smashed the butt of his cigarette into my skin. I cried out and kicked my legs and tried to rip myself from his grasp, from those goddamned restraints. My tantrum had no effect other than causing Mr. Trossen to press the cigarette harder into my temple.

Tears slipped from my eyes and a sob forced itself from my throat.

Mr. Trossen breathed through his cigarette and stared at me in curiosity. In the way a child might stare in fascination at the monkeys swinging from branch-to-branch in the zoo, or the hogs rolling in shit.

Mr. Trossen bent down and resumed sucking my nipples and massaging my belly, pausing every so often to take a drag from his cigarette.

When I squirmed, writhed, or whimpered, Mr. Trossen would bite at the nipple and burn me, using me as an ashtray.

He moved on to palming my dick, soon sucking it. I trembled. I couldn't stop myself from getting hard. And I couldn't stop myself from ejaculating into his mouth, either. Mr. Trossen grinned at me, his teeth dripping in the white liquid.

God, there was something wrong with me.

Something sick.

I hated myself.

Mr. Trossen, to add to my punishment, filled me up with even more cold water and made me sit with it longer. For hours. I writhed. Sobbed. Wallowed in self-pity.

When he finally came to guide me to the toilet, my hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat and my whole body ached from the strain of fending off all the cramps. He took the plug out and forced me to hold the water in. He stuck it in my mouth like a pacifier and I reflexively spit it out. 

"Looks like you're going to have to keep it in a good while longer." Mr. Trossen reached under my ass to shove the plug back in me as I pleaded. And then I couldn't hold it anymore.

I let the not-completely-clean liquid out all over his hand. I tried to stop it as soon as it started, but I was already dead. There was no going back. 

I still felt relief at being able to get the water out. I almost sobbed with it. But there was also dread. Because once I was done, there was going to be hell to pay.

Mr. Trossen left for awhile, locking the bathroom door from the outside. When he came back, he carried the enema.

"Please. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I just couldn't hold it. Please," I begged.

"On the towel," Mr. Trossen's voice was low and quiet, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his nostrils flared.

I shook my head.

Mr. Trossen dragged me down by my hair, quickly jamming the tube inside me. I cringed at the ice-water flowing into me. He refilled the enema bag and forced the water into me until it started to squirt out. Mr. Trossen pushed an unbearably huge plug in me. This time I did scream.

He made me sit with it inside me for God knows how long. I grew sincerely afraid that my belly would permanently be stuck at that size. After an eternity, Mr. Trossen finally led me back to the bathroom. I thought he was going to let me get it out, but then he began forcing ice cubes through an especially large tube and into me. The water pushing its way out was replaced by the newly introduced ice cube.

And then I had to sit on the bed with ice inside me until it melted, then with ice-water until it warmed, then with the water forever. My time on that bed felt horribly protracted, the agony stretching it out and making my stay in that room all the more unbearable.

At long last Mr. Trossen practically carried me to the toilet.

"Let's try this again." He removed the plug, and it took everything in me to hold it in. And then he made me sit without letting it out for thirty seconds or so that passed like thirty years. Sweat and tears poured down my face and blood dripped from my palms where my nails dug in.

And then bliss. I was allowed to let go. I sobbed in relief, not even caring about the sounds my ass made, just thankful that I didn't have to die like that. With my stomach distended like I was pregnant 5 months and in agony. Mr. Trossen rubbed my back, then unzipped his pants and told me to thank him. So I did. He put his cock in my face and I took it in my mouth. I swallowed it as far as it would go, then further, gagging and choking on it. 

"Use your hands, Jackson."

I reached up and rubbed up and down his shaft. I got on my knees to get a better angle.

"Look at me."

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. They filled with tears again. Mr. Trossen stroked my hair, then clutched it, beginning to use my head as he pleased. He told me I was filthy. Disgusting. Nothing more than a slut, whore, cunt. Told me to swallow up all he gave me; it was a gift, he said. I choked down his seed and licked his length clean. I refrained from spitting out the pubic hair that remained in my mouth; I knew how he'd react. Mr. Trossen told me I'd finally learned.

He finally brought me back to the bed. There was a sour taste in my mouth. My throat still burned from crying and screaming and begging. And swallowing. My asshole burned. Mr. Trossen let me drink a glass of water. Then he tied me back to the bed and I slept. 

Every day, Mr. Trossen would lift my legs, check on my asshole, and tell me I was healing nicely. Give me a glass of water, let me use the bathroom. And then he'd leave. He'd jam his dick down my throat multiple times a day, and I did him and myself the courtesy of not biting. He did this for maybe a week until one day he walked in, gave me my glass of water and let me use the bathroom, pulling out a syringe before he tied me down to the bed.

"What is that? What are you doing?" I backed up against the wall.

Mr. Trossen pushed a bit of liquid from the syringe. "Just a little sedative. Nothing to worry about."

I shook my head and tried to jerk away from him. It never worked.

Mr. Trossen jabbed the syringe into a vein and I very quickly began feeling foggy and sleepy.

"No." I muttered.

My tortured thoughts slipped away.

Peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter, and I know it's slow but it really starts to pick up next chapter. I think that my stories tend to revolve around the emotional trauma that the victim experiences as a result of the assault, but I'm not sure. These stories might also just be porn. Or me getting all of this shit out of my system. Probably just porn.  
> Anyways, if you're interested in reading more like this, here's a link if you REALLYhttps: don't feel like doing much and don't want to go through the trouble of clicking on my account name: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1372354  
> Thank you for reading, please continue on (or not, if you didn't like it) and please leave comments below, I really appreciate hearing feedback and suggestions and whatever you have to say.


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